


Ready At Your Hand

by the_ragnarok



Series: threesome!fic [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: BDSM, Consent Play, F/M, Humiliation, Infidelity, M/M, Nipple Play, Sex Toys, Threesome - F/M/M, prostitution kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur's good at everything he does, Mal is devious, and Eames is a good host.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready At Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the ever-lovely viva_gloria. <3

"Of course not, why would you want to take a hotel?" Eames says, and it's only slightly for selfish reasons. "I have a perfectly nice guest room here." Not to mention his own queen-sized bed, but it doesn't pay to presume on Mal.

She frowns prettily. "But where will Arthur sleep?" If Eames didn't have patience for games, he'd have severed contact with Mal long ago.

"I could get a hotel," Arthur says, suppressed quickly by Mal's darkening frown. "Or not."

"I have a couch," Eames says. Mouth curving up, he adds, "Or he's perfectly welcome to share with me."

He can't tell, just from Arthur's expression, what he thinks of that, but Mal's expression brightens at once. "Marvelous," she says. "Then shall we get to work?"

That, apparently, doesn't quite means what Eames thinks it means, since it appears to require Arthur and Mal disappearing away to the guest suite for some time. When they return, Arthur's moving even more stiffly than before.

"Arthur, your notes, please," Mal says. Her eyes, tracking Arthur as he shuffles to his briefcase, look nothing short of delighted.

When Arthur spreads them over the desk, though, Eames is too distracted to pay further attention to the question of what, exactly, Mal did to him. "Did you make those, Arthur?"

"Yeah." Arthur's voice is soft, hoarse. He licks his lips when Eames looks at him.

"They're bloody brilliant." Eames recognizes the style from the last time Mal accosted him. He whistles softly. "Mal, you minx, you've been holding out on me."

"A girl's entitled to her secrets," she says archly, but her smile turns to match Eames'.

They _are_ brilliant, the notes. Eames goes through them with more attention, taking the pleasure he always finds in something well-made. They're not just thorough, they're _convenient_. Eames dog-ears a table outlining the mark's preferences in partners of either sex, right above a diagram of his family connections, color-coded by strength and positivity of relation.

Mal smiles at him benignly when he puts down the notes. "What do you think?"

Eames drops into a chair, taps a pen against his lip as he thinks. "From what I can see, no reason the simple straightforward approach can't work." The mark's not militarized, the secret doesn't look like it should be too deeply buried. "Go in, convince him to bury the secret, dig it out."

Mal taps her fingernails against the table. "And what do you think, Arthur?"

"I told you." At her warning gaze, he ducks his head.

"Tell us again. Mr. Eames has not heard your idea."

Arthur makes a frustrated noise, shifting then standing rigidly still. "The idea," he forces out through gritted teeth – what _has_ Mal done to him, Eames is beginning to wonder – "is simple. Like _Mr. Eames_ said. Tempt him into carelessness, then take advantage."

"And what do _you_ think, hm, Mal?" Eames isn't sure who to keep his eyes on anymore. They're reacting to each other in ways that fascinate him, drawing things out of Mal that Eames has never seen in all their long acquaintance. And Arthur, Arthur's his own puzzle. Eames would have been glad Mal brought him even without any other reason, lovely as those other reasons are.

She keeps them waiting for a moment, while Eames leans back and smirks and Arthur very emphatically doesn't move. Then she smiles broadly, and says, "Just the same, actually."

While she's looking at Eames, Arthur catches his gaze and rolls his eyes pointedly. Eames doesn't laugh, but it's an effort.

"I have the times and locations for optimal grab here," Arthur says, "but we'll need to decide which – " He walks towards the table with a purposeful stride, but he must've forgotten whatever it was Mal's done to him because he stops mid-step with something like a shocked moan.

Mal purses her lips. "Arthur, _really_."

Eames can contain his curiosity no longer. "All right. What've you done to him, witchlet?"

He loves Mal's mischievous smile, the crook of her finger as she says, "Unwrap him and see."

Arthur suffers Eames to remove his clothes, hands jerking in an abortive movement when Eames gets his tie. Eames gives Mal the clothes to put away neatly, working quick until Arthur's naked, nothing on him but tight underwear and his collar.

"Christ." Eames pulls at the elastic, if it can be called that. There's hardly any give. "What's this meant to be, some backward attempt at a chastity belt?"

"Not far from it," Arthur mutters, and takes it off himself.

Eames can see what he means when Arthur's erection springs forth, released from the tough fabric. Understands even better when Arthur turns around and Eames can see the black base of a plug in his lovely arse.

"Bend over, dear." Mal's playing with something. Eames can't quite tell what it is, only that it's black and fits neatly in the palm of her hand. "Eames should have a good look at what I'm bribing him with."

"That's not grammatical," Arthur says, but he bends down anyway.

Eames isn't shy about exploring him, but there's so much lovely skin on display that he hardly knows where to start. He puts his hands on Arthur's shoulder-blades, dragging slow down his back, bends to press kisses to his spine.

"Just get it over with," Arthur says, low, and Eames laughs.

"Not a chance, darling." He smacks Arthur's arse, playful-like, just to see him clench around the toy. It doesn't drag any further reaction, though, so Eames leaves it be for the moment. Instead he runs his hands down Arthur's thighs, then rakes his fingernails up the sensitive insides. That makes Arthur hiss, so Eames grins and pushes him to spread his legs wider.

"How do you like it best?" Eames is mostly talking to himself. There's a good chance Arthur won't answer him anyway.

"In service," Mal answers for him, and Eames would object to this breach of manners except that Arthur's muscles tighten under his hands and he pushes up into Eames' touch.

 _Well, well_. Eames traces idle circles on the skin of Arthur's stomach, thinking. Obviously Mal knows the man better than Eames does. But then, that might just mean that Eames has a clearer view.

Of course, none of this would matter if Arthur would just _say_ what he liked, but Eames can work with a challenge.

Arthur's reactions are subtle, but Eames can read them from where he is, in the changes in Arthur's breathing and the bunching of his muscles. He kisses the side of Arthur's neck while viciously pinching a nipple, and that seems to do the trick, Arthur straining towards him and away the very same time.

Mal makes a noise at that. Eames turns to her, and she gestures lazily. "Do not stop on my account."

"Wouldn't consider it," Eames says, grinning. "Arthur, darling, turn around so I fuck you properly."

Arthur does, but his eyebrow's raised. "Logistically speaking, it would be easier – "

"Not everything is logistics." Eames puts his hands on the tops of Arthur's hips, kisses him soundly. Arthur strains and bucks, as if to throw Eames off, as if to get to Mal through him. But if Eames' ears are not misleading him, Mal's taking care of herself where she's sitting. "She's doing fine," he whispers in Arthur's ear. "Now let's take care of you, yeah?"

"No," Arthur gasps, but he's leaning into Eames' hands. "No, I don't – "

"Want to get fucked?" Eames takes Arthur's cock in his hand, pulls on it until Arthur bucks and throws his head back. "Forgive me if the evidence seems a tad inconclusive, darling."

"Fuck you, fuck, _stop_." Arthur twists and squirms, as if to get away. Eames doesn't let him.

He pins Arthur to the table, bending him over backwards, and uses his free hand to explore where Arthur's breached open, slicked up and waiting. He traces fingers around the base of the plug, absent-mindedly kissing the nearest bit of available skin – Arthur's hip, he thinks.

Arthur's tight around the plug, but Eames says, "Think I could put another finger in you?" just to make Arthur shake and swear. It works like a charm, Arthur moving under him with renewed desperation.

"What are you doing to my boy, Eames?" Mal is suddenly just behind him. Her eyes are curious, though.

"Nothing he won't enjoy." Eames gives Arthur's nipple another twist; oh, he _really_ likes that, lovely boy. "Not once he's relaxed a little and let things happen."

"Oh fuck off," Arthur grumbles, and Eames can't hold back a laugh, an affectionate kiss to Arthur's breastbone.

"You," Eames says, "be quiet and let us work." He turns to Mal. "Get his nipples for me, would you? And hold him down, I'll want my hands."

There's a moment where they all rearrange themselves, Mal pushing Arthur to sit on the table and then pulling him to her with both her arms around his chest. Her fingernails are long, and she sinks them into his pecs until he throws his head back and closes his eyes.

"You'll take care of that?" Eames says, half-rhetorical. "Good, I need to," and he goes to his knees to nuzzle at Arthur's hard cock. Arthur whines, deep in the back of his throat, when Eames' stubbled cheek rubs against him. Eames grins up at Mal, then takes Arthur deep in his mouth, with firm suction and practiced rhythm.

Mal's whispering something to Arthur, but Eames can't hear what that is over the rush of blood in his ears, can't be bothered to focus on anything else when he has Arthur's cock in his mouth, long and cut and perfect. He can just about spare enough attention to play with the plug in Arthur's arse, and is rewarded by Arthur pushing into his mouth, deep enough that Eames has to swallow around him.

He continues in this happy vein until he feels Mal's hand on his forehead, pushing him back. "No," he says, trying not to whimper or embarrass himself by diving back for more, "I want – "

"What you want can wait," Mal says. "If you go on Arthur will come, and we can't have that yet."

This would've had more effect if it wasn't for the exasperated face Arthur makes when Mal doesn't have her eyes on him. She frowns and turns, but by the time she's looking Arthur's expression is schooled into blankness again.

"Eames," Mal says, eyes narrowed, "is that wretched boy making _faces_ at me?"

"I'm offended," Arthur says, and Eames can't keep from laughing anymore, it feels like he'll rupture something if he tries.

"Oh, _boys_." Mal pulls him to his feet, impatient. "Is it too much to ask you to be serious for one short hour?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Arthur says. Mal slaps him, light and not intended to hurt much. He nuzzles her palm.

"You're lucky I can't stay angry with you," she tells Arthur, and draws him into a deep kiss. Eames watches them until Mal pulls back and announces, "Now I would like to get fucked. Mr. Eames, on your back, please."

Arthur gives the floor a doubting look. "What, here?"

Eames considers. The floor isn't the height of comfort. There's the table, but that's still mostly covered in paperwork for the job. "To my bedroom, then?"

Mal raises her hand and cries, "To the bedroom!" Arthur follows her, visibly suppressing a laugh. Eames doesn't bother holding back.

Once there, Eames lies on his back and lets Mal straddle him, his hands on her hips. "Shall I eat you out first?" He watches her arch back and play with her clit, nothing like shy around him. "Your pussy or your arse, Mal, you know you have but to ask."

"Mmm," Mal says. "But Arthur was so good today. Gave his presentation without even one stutter. He should get the honor, I think."

Eames isn't quite certain about calling that an _honor_ , delightful as it is, but Arthur doesn't seem to be arguing, only watching them with hot eyes. Mal holds his gaze for a moment before turning back to Eames.

"Right," she says, and positions herself just above Eames' cock, waiting to slide down. "Arthur, come here. Take what you can get. With your mouth alone, please."

Eames feels the mattress shifting as Arthur climbs on behind them, feels the difference in Mal's balance as Arthur holds on to her. Eames can't quite see what he's doing, but frankly he could give less than a fuck about it. Mal's hot and tight around him, and Eames thinks he's going to come in her and eat her out while Arthur watches, and that though just sends a shock through his entire system so he has to arch up into her, has to.

"Yes." Mal drops to lean over him, hands clutched tight in Eames' shoulders, her small perfect breasts moving very distractingly indeed. "Eames. _Harder_."

So he tries, gives her everything he can find in him. He's just settled into a rhythm that works for both of them when he feels a hot touch, a further wetness at the base of his cock, on his balls.

"Arthur," Eames chokes out, and Mal's fingernails dig into his shoulders.

"Look at me," she hisses. "Say my name. I am here."

"Mal," Eames says then, obedient. "Mal, fuck. _Mal_." He's going to fucking come in a minute if this doesn't let up, Mal's not going to be happy with him. But he can't bear the thought of it stopping, any of it, Mal warm and wet above him and Arthur's devious tongue. "I'm going to come."

"Don't," Mal says, somehow managing to pout and gasp at the same time. "Oh, Eames, it's just getting good, _don't_ – "

But Eames does, because he's only human and to add insult to injury, Arthur just rubbed a knuckle behind Eames' balls. How else is Eames supposed to react?

Eames opens his eyes – he can't quite remember closing them – to see Mal scowling at him. " _Eames_ ," she says, and purses her mouth. "Really?"

"It's not my fault!" Eames turns his own scowl on Arthur's who's looking as smug and unrepentant as anyone can be while on their knees, wearing a collar and a plug. Eames realizes this for the futile course it is, and puts a hand on Mal's thigh. "I can make it up to you, love. You know I can."

"I wanted to get fucked," Mal says with a huff. She lies down anyway.

Arthur crawls over to kiss her, their hands intertwining. "You can't always get what you want." He noses at her jaw. "What would Dom think?"

"Oh, bugger Dom," she says petulantly. Eames tries to stifle a giggle at the thought of _that_. Though one never knows, considering Mal. "Eames, fetch me my toy bag?"

Eames, being a good host, does. Being a good thief, he also rifles through it first. He palms a pair of nipple clamps, lets them jangle as he whistles a merry tune.

In the bedroom, Mal asks for the lime-green dildo, which turns out to be a monstrosity in the shape of blobs piled one on top of each other. Eames shows her the clamps, and she smiles and asks, "Who for?"

“Arthur, for now.” Arthur’s torso is still marked from Mal’s fingernails. “Give you something to do with your hands.”

“So considerate,” Mal purrs. Arthur’s looking noticeably stoic even as Eames fastens the clamps on him, not flinching at all.

Arthur kneels between her legs and puts the toy in her. Eames bends to leisurely suck at her nipples, moving up to kiss her when she moans. She clutches a hand around Eames’ spent dick, not letting go even when he squirms from overstimulation. That’s just Mal, though, with her system of dues and balances, all held pretty inside her head. Eames can take a little discomfort.

She comes with a sigh, nothing extravagant, and Eames knows she’ll be holding him guilty for that. He tries to look as innocent and charming as he can when she flutters her eyes at him and says, “Eames, do sit back.”

Then she turns and says, “Arthur,” Eames winces. He knows that overly-sweet voice, and it doesn’t signify anything good. “Since our Eames is so deprived he can’t even satisfy a lady properly,” Mal says, “you should take care of him.”

Those are frightful words if Eames ever heard any. He grins weakly while A crawls over to him, all purpose and graceful movement.

Arthur holds his gaze for a moment. “You do this before?” His voice is low, and for once he’s not looking at Mal.

Whichever _this_ Arthur may be referring to, Eames doubts it’s new to him. “Of course,” he says, already breathless.

When Arthur takes him in his mouth, Eames doesn’t hiss, doesn’t shift and move away as much as he wants to. Mal’s holding him pinned with her eyes, with her parted lips and rapt expression. “Look how well he does his work,” she says, and her voice is too labored to be the instrument of attraction it usually is. For some reason, that only hits Eames harder.

“Very conscientious,” Eames pants. “Quite lovely.”

Mal gives him a wicked smile and puts her hand on Arthur’s arse. Not playing with him, but clearly showing she could. “You like him, hm? Perhaps I should give him to you. As a token of my affection. Little though you deserve it.”

Eames can’t possibly miss how that makes Arthur shift under his hands, how his muscles bunch up and tighten and _relax_ in one smooth movement.

“Let you fuck his pretty little mouth and pretty little ass,” Mal says, absently stroking a hand down Arthur’s back. “Speaking of which - are you hard yet, Eames?” When Eames can’t scrounge up the presence of mind to answer her, she nudges Arthur. “Love, did you get him hard for me?”

Arthur pulls off. It’s all Eames can do to choke back the protesting whimper that wants to come out. “Hard enough?” Arthur squeezes the base of Eames’ cock. Eames swears, and Mal laughs.

“Just about,” she says, and Eames notes the shift in Arthur’s expression when Mal pulls the plug out of him.

She’s slow about it, fucking it back into Arthur a few times before removing it completely. Arthur drops his head to Eames’ thigh, gasping wet into the skin there. Eames puts his hand on Arthur’s head, sliding his fingers through damp hair.

Mal puts the toy aside. “Now, Arthur,” she says, “go climb in Mr. Eames’ lap and show him what I taught you.”

“Because that’s _not_ what I’ve been doing the entire day,” Arthur grumbles into Eames’ ear. Eames chuckles and kisses his neck as Arthur settles over him, moving to take Eames inside him.

 _This_ \- fuck, if he thought Mal was tight and hot, it was nothing. It’s so tight Eames can hardly move, even after Arthur spent most of the afternoon with a plug inside him.

“You, darling,” Eames says - and it’s mostly audible, even - “need to relax.”

“Oh yeah?” Arthur tightens around him, and Eames makes an entirely undignified noise. “How do you think I should do that?”

“Got some ideas.” Eames wraps an arm around Arthur’s waist, pulls him into a rhythm that would work better. “Got some friends, back home.” He’s not even entirely sure what he’s saying anymore, but he thinks he knows the direction, knows what Arthur wants to hear. “If Mal gives you to me, I could share. They’d love your tight little arse, they’d all just adore it.”

“You’re - full of it -” Maybe Eames is, but Arthur’s the one so strung he can barely let a sentence out. And still, Eames is thankful when Mal takes over, because he’s not sure how long he could keep this up.

“Oh, it’s nothing but truth,” Mal says right into Arthur’s ear. “I’ve met them. Lovely bunch of fellows, very strapping. Would open your little hole right up.” Arthur’s shaking his head, eyes scrunched tight. His face is wet, and Eames can’t tell if it’s just sweat or something else. “Ride you hard until you ache everywhere, until there’s not an inch of you that’s not dripping with come.”

“Fuck.” Arthur’s voice is all but unrecognizable, low and almost pained-sounding. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yes.” Mal pets a hand down his neck. “As much as you want, my greedy little whore, and then some.” She flicks Arthur’s clamps, and Eames can feel it, in the tension of Arthur’s body, in the way he tries to move towards her and away at the same time.

“Fuck you until you come,” Eames says, thick and hard to get out. “And then again. And again, until you cry for mercy.”

“But there’s none,” Mal says. “No mercy in this world at all, not for you, my poor darling.”

“And then.” Eames struggles for words, for a grasp on his voice, for a grasp on _Arthur_ , who’s slippery and moving and so _alive_ in his lap. “And then, when they’re all done with you, I’ll eat you clean. Until you’re crying with it because you can’t stand to be touched. And you’ll let me.”

A spark of coherence returns to Arthur’s eyes. “Why the fuck would I do that?” he almost snarls.

“Because I told you to,” Mal whispers in his ear, but Eames can hear it clear and loud. It’s almost drowned out, though, by Arthur’s cries as he comes, little strangled “Ah - ah - “ noises from the back of his throat. Eames kisses the base of his neck, holds him tight, fucks hard into him until he’s coming too.

When the height of it is gone, Eames is reluctant to pull out, to pull away from the sweaty pile they’re in. Arthur twitches until Mal takes the clamps off him. Eames holds him while she does, by his collar, sucks bites into his abused chest.

So they lie until Arthur stirs. “Are we going to get some work done?”

Mal rises with a stretch. “Might as well,” she says. “Until you boys find your second wind.”

“More like fourth wind at this point,” Eames grumbles with no real heat. “You keep forgetting I’m not twenty anymore.”

“Come on, old man.” Arthur has the actual audacity to ruffle Eames’ hair at this. Eames will remember and exact vengeance. “Make her some coffee or she’ll be useless until tomorrow.”

“Can’t have that,” Eames says, and disentangles himself to go deal with those matters of utmost importance known as tea and biccies.


End file.
